“Oh.” Dnara’s cheeks flushed to match the giggling old woman’s.
“If you need any help putting them on, just ring that bell there.” She pointed to the rope tied to a bell over the door then left.
Dnara wrung out her hair and stepped down from the wash basin, the clean stone floor cool under her feet. The dark granite stonework sucked up any water that fell, along with her footprints, as she walked over to the pile of clothes. On top of the pile sat a thin, oblong object wrapped in paper. Her hand reached for it but stopped short of opening it. Gifts were not something she was accustomed to, and it almost felt wrong, like stealing, to take these items as hers. Athan had already done so much, more than she believed most would, and she had no means to repay him.
Yet. Her hand picked up the thin package with renewed determination. She could open an apothecary. She could find a way to repay him. She could do anything, now, because now she was free.
And, she suspected, Athan could gain just as much from her as an apothecary, selling her whatever herbs he brought from the land. They could make up some story to tell Beothen and the townsfolk, that Lambshire’s forests had been blighted, and she was to stay and send her earnings back to support her family there. Or, she supposed, it would be simpler to adhere to Beothen’s prediction, that Athan’s uncle had truly intended Dnara to become Athan’s wife.
Dnara’s cheeks heated and her tummy fluttered with the thought. Her, a wife? It had never crossed her mind before, as every day blended into the next. She’d begun to think her keeper would live forever, old but never aging, unchanging like the forest.
But, she’d stepped outside that forest. She’d run from it. Now, it felt like everything would change, even her.
Inside the package, she found a note, two hair sticks of polished white ashwood, and a barrette made of thin copper petals bent and shaped like a rose. The note read simply ‘To replace the twig you’ve been using.’ Athan’s handwriting was smooth and practiced, unexpected for a worker of the land. But, what did she know, having only her keeper’s word to take on such things? She had begun to realize that many things beyond the forest were much different than what she had learned from her keeper or secretly gleaned from his books.
Brushing her hair with the provided, freshly cleaned comb, she thought it time to begin making her own decisions about this world, the first of which being that there were more kind people in it than unkind. She could still feel the hand of Jorn upon her arm and see the desperate look in his eyes. It made her scars itch just to think on it. But, she could also remember Hector and his wife, the friendly travelers Athan stopped to talk with, Beothen at the gate, Tobin selling his cornbread, and the old woman here at the bathhouse.
And Athan. Through it all, from the moment she woke up in his camp, there had been Athan’s patient kindness and disarming smile. Oh, and Treven, too, she thought with a laugh as she began dressing.
The garments weren’t like the fancy dress on the bathhouse’s sign, for which she was grateful. A comfortable, undyed cotton underdress that would be easy to clean, and much softer than the scratchy burlap one she’d worn for years. A light green overdress, a dark green dyed leather halter which tied at the front, and a half-apron with a belt full of pouches completed a perfectly practical set of clothes. She finished with the kindly given sandals and cloak from Hector’s daughter, hugging the fabric as if to hold on to the compassion it represented. These things she would remember, these acts of kindness and friendly smiles.
A buzzing energy surged up her arms beneath the dark green dress sleeves then dissipated, like goosebumps from a cold wind. A blessing for her positive thoughts, or a warning not to be so trusting? Dnara decided to take it as both.
Picking up her old clothes wrapped in butcher paper, she left the bath, said goodbye to the old woman and opened the door to look out onto the street. She found Athan waiting for her, just as he had promised, with a small leather bound book in hand. Taking notice of her approach, he pushed away from the brick exterior, closed the book and shoved it into a pocket. He took not one but two lingering glances of her before speaking.
“Did everything fit?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said, her hand clutching the cotton skirt. Suddenly, her throat had filled with uncertainty and her stomach with butterflies. After a swallow, she managed to add, “And thank you for the hair sticks. And the barrette. They’re quite lovely.” It came out awkwardly stilted, then her tongue decided to continue. “I hope they weren’t too expensive?”
“No, not at all,” he quickly replied. “Better than the twig, I thought. Which, you read in my note. The twig was an inventive solution, though.” His words, too, were stilted. He raised a hand and scratched the back of his neck, his gaze drifting down from her face to her sandaled feet. “Oh, I thought to get you boots, too, as you’ll need them, but then thought it better you were there for a proper sizing. We can do that tomorrow. Most of the shops will be closing soon.”
“Okay,” she replied, once again feeling overwhelmed by his generosity. “I do hope you are keeping track so that I can properly repay you.”
“That’s what the ledger in my pocket is for,” he laughed and patted the pocket where he’d tucked the book. “Joking,” he assured. “But I have thought of a way for you to repay me.”
“How?” she asked,
